


Give Me Strength

by ryukoishida



Series: Insomniacs' Wanderlust [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: “You – Mr. Cup-noodle-is-the-holy-grail-of-all-food-groups – made soup from scratch?” Even if his throat is burning with pain of a thousand needles stabbing him in the esophagus, Ignis can’t help the teasing smirk that’s gradually forming along his chapped lips.Prompt: Gladio taking care of a sick Ignis.





	

Ignis Scientia has always prided himself on never getting sick.

 

From doing daily physical exercises and having a balanced diet, to maintaining a perpetually calm and poised mental state that rarely fluctuates – over the years, Ignis has done everything he can to ensure that neither his body nor his mind is susceptible to any sort of sickness.

 

Illness, Ignis thinks, causes the body to wane and the mind to dwindle; it’s a nuisance that disrupts daily routines, a kind of weakness that Ignis strives to avoid.

 

It only serves to worry those around him (his feverish brain conjuring up images of that one instance from years ago: a five-year-old Prince Noctis, wide, scared blue eyes and shuddering lips as he tried to hold back his tears while tightly holding onto Ignis’ sweaty palm with both of his smaller, frailer hands).  

 

Since then, the appointed advisor of the crown prince has made sure to keep himself – and his charge – physically and mentally healthy, especially when they began this perilous journey to Altissia where they sometimes find themselves starved of nutritional foods, dirtied and exhausted from hunts, or sustained minor injuries from the Imperial army’s attacks.

 

When Ignis finally comes to, he finds that he’s lying down on the stiff, narrow mattress inside the dimly-lit RV the group has decided to stay for the evening. The edges of his vision are a little hazy, and he has to blink blearily a few times before he realizes that someone had probably removed his glasses when he fainted.

 

His head pounds as if there were a group of Sabertusks stomping on his brain and his joints radiate a dull ache that sparks into pinpricks of sharp pain when he tries to reposition himself more comfortably.

 

Sweat makes his shirt stick grossly to his skin, but Ignis can’t find it in himself to care right now.

 

“Gladio…” he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice – coarse and low and breathless. He tries to clear his throat but it only makes the flames flare wild. “Gladio?”

 

“I’m right here,” Gladiolus’ face swims into Ignis’ field of vision, and there’s a small smile on his lips though his unease is more obviously displayed in the amber of his irises as he gently sweeps the other man’s sweat-soaked bangs away from his forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Like everything inside me is on fire,” Ignis admits, and he winces when he attempts to swallow, the feeling of it not unlike having pins and needles making their way down his inflamed throat.

 

The RV is too quiet – usually the two younger members in their group would be fooling around on their phones or playing a lively, boisterous game of cards – and Ignis’ first conscious concern is the whereabouts of the prince, but before he can even open his mouth to ask, Gladiolus is already speaking quietly again, “Noct and Prompto went out to get medicine. And uh…”

 

Gladiolus rubs the back of his neck sheepishly when he pauses, gaze shifting to the side to avoid Ignis’ curious glance.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I made soup, if you want any­­––” he says in a rush, and if Ignis has had the energy or mindset to pay close enough attention, he would have immediately noticed the uncharacteristic hint of blush on the man’s rugged cheeks, “––Coraldevil fin with ginger and pepper.”

 

“You – Mr. Cup-noodle-is-the-holy-grail-of-all-food-groups – made soup from scratch?” Even if his throat is burning with pain of a thousand needles stabbing him in the esophagus, Ignis can’t help the teasing smirk that’s gradually forming along his chapped lips.

 

“Oh, shut your pretty mouth,” Gladiolus rolls his eyes, but he’s glad to see that Ignis is at least able to crack a joke despite his current condition, “just because I mostly make cup noodles doesn’t mean I can’t cook other things… I mean, I can’t guarantee it’ll taste close to anything you make because frankly, no one should be able to make a plain ol’ Cannedwich taste that good.”

 

“It’s all in the seasoning,” Ignis assures him with a smug grin before his slightly improved mood is ruined by a series of hacking coughs that seizes his entire, shaking frame and causes him to curl further into the rumpled sheets.

 

“You all right?”

 

Gladiolus’ worried frown returns, and he doesn’t even try to hide it this time; instead, he runs his hand up and down along Ignis’ back in a soothing, gentle manner until the man’s breathing rate returns closer to normal.

 

Ignis nods once mutedly in reply.

 

“I’ll go get that soup,” Gladiolus says, pulling himself out of the chair.

 

Ignis doesn’t say anything – doesn’t try to – and watches through blurry vision as Gladiolus’ towering stature disappears behind a flimsy curtain that separates the sleeping quarter and the pathetic excuse of a kitchenette.

 

A bit later on that evening, Ignis would unabashedly spit out his first sip of the soup – so salty that all possible flavours from the fish and herbs have been lost to the bitterness of over-seasoning – and Gladiolus would look part-horrified, part-concerned, and a bit offended as he scrabbles to grab a napkin to clean up Ignis’ mess.

 

“It’s pretty terrible, huh?”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Ignis’ voice cracks after his coughing fit stops, “just a tad bit too hot, is all.”

 

A white lie now and again doesn’t hurt, Ignis surmises as he takes a second, more careful sip, trying his best to not shudder as the overwhelming saltiness spreads on his tongue and runs down his throat. After all, it isn’t every day that Ignis gets to taste Gladiolus’ attempt at cooking, and the strategist will savour the warmth and the unsaid sentiment as best as he can.


End file.
